We ate supper someplace recently (maybe the Olive Garden, although I’m not entirely certain) where one of the entrees on the menu made mention of ‘Bitter Greens,’ which I know nothing about (and didn’t order, by the way. It sounds gross.) But I think I got a good taste of a different kind of Bitter Greens yesterday afternoon, when I did a bit of weeding in the yard. Kathy specifically enlisted me to tackle some of the most formidable thistles that were rather stubbornly making themselves at our home in the midst of our beautiful landscaping.
I have to confess to being a less than stellar husband or homeowner when it comes to such matters. I love to look out the window and see beautiful flowers and shrubs shorn of any distracting weeds- but my interest in being an active participant or contributor to that scenario is pretty minimal. I guess I subscribe to the rather naive notion that if you just shut your eyes and wish for it hard enough, the Weed Elves will appear during the dark of night and magically excise any unwanted weeds. (And while they’re at it, the same Elves would probably rid the yard of Bobbie and Ellie’s poop. Sorry if that’s a bit graphic for some of you. ) You would think that a 49-year-old who graduated cum laude from a fine liberal arts college and then went on to score straight A’s in pursuit of his masters degree would be bright enough to know that weeds don’t pull themselves – nor do Elves materialize to do it for you unless they’re hired and paid to do so. Of course, I live with an incredibly patient woman who has had to do way more than her fair share of the weeding (and a lot of other tasks around here) without too much complaint. (And I do not take her patient, forgiving nature for granted. Utter cluelessness in a husband might be kind of cute for a year or two, but I’m sure it gets old after awhile.)
Anyway, I probably gained a few brownie points yesterday by doing some weeding – and I also came away with a new respect for and wariness of these particular thistles, which were so prickly that they could deliver serious pain even through thick cloth gloves. But it only made me more bound and determined to rid our landscaping of these little green terrors. And that’s exactly what I did. And although I can’t say that I’ve developed anything remotely resembling a green thumb, I really experienced something close to Glee as each and every one of those pain-inflicting thistles was torn from the soil.
Now if I could only learn to feel a similar sort of Glee from cleaning my car.